


Breathing Space

by EliseEtcetera



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Disorder, Awkwardness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I love you Feuilly i'm a huge fan, M/M, Oops, Panic Attacks, Piningjolras, Pre-Slash, Victor Hugo would be proud of me for that, anywho let's get to the real tags shall we?, oh yeah, panic disorder, panickyjolras with a side of, scheisse i forgot to write Feuilly in here, that's the shiiiiiit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliseEtcetera/pseuds/EliseEtcetera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a panic attack at the Musain and all his friends are incompetent except for Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing Space

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another kink meme fill. I swear one day I will upload something fully original. Just not for, like, a year.
> 
> This also really got away from me, holy shit.
> 
> Is anyone else sensing a pattern in the kind of fic I write?

If it had been any other day, this might never have happened. If Enjolras hadn’t gone to the Musain with his friends, if said friends could’ve learned to leave well enough alone, if he hadn’t tried to finish the term paper that so desperately needed to be finished when he was already under such great stress, if he hadn’t run out of his medication, if his head could’ve just _stopped_ for one day, if Grantaire, _fucking Grantaire_ , hadn’t chosen today to actually be almost sober, Enjolras very well might have been OK.

 However, life had a different plan for Enjolras.

 The day started out shitty enough. Enjolras woke up an hour late, giving him just enough time to pee, brush his teeth (simultaneously), get dressed and grab his books and laptop on the way out the door.

 Enjolras quickly walked to his class, mentally scolding himself for forgetting to fill his prescription.

  _You’re such a fucking idiot. You knew the pharmacy would be closed for two days and you knew you were almost out._

 He had been without his anxiety medication for three days now and it was starting to take its toll. His mind was racing, focusing on fifty different things at one time and his hands were starting to shake. The tightness in his chest that he had experienced every day for the majority of his teen years was returning, and Enjolras wanted little else than to run back to his apartment and hide in a corner.

 Enjolras sighed and entered class. It was too late now to skip and besides, he really couldn’t afford to miss this class. He took his seat, a few deep breaths, and tried his hardest to concentrate on the lecture.

  _Breathe. In. Out. Everything’s alright. Just keep breathing._

 It had been difficult; his hands were too shaky to write legibly, his legs kept bouncing no matter how hard he tried to stop them, the inside of his bottom lip was raw and bleeding from his chewing it, and his chest was so tight that it was almost painful to breathe. He’d made it through, though, and sighed in relief when the class ended. He started walking to the door when the professor called him over.

  _Shit._

 Enjolras sighed and turned, walking over to the man he was sure was a Monarchist in a past life. “Yes, sir?”

Enjolras stood silently as his professor shredded, figuratively and literally, the latest paper he’d turned in. Enjolras bit his lip nervously, blood running over his tongue. He’d worked so hard on that paper, pulled three all-nighters to get it finished.

 He left the class with a rewrite added on top of the term paper due in a few days and his breathing became even shorter.

  _Home. Get home and you can crawl back into bed and bury your head in the pillows and drown out the world._

 His shaky legs were carrying him back to his apartment when a voice interrupted his frenzied thoughts.

 “Hey, Enj!”

 Enjolras slowly turned to face the person running towards him. _No._

 “Hey, Enjolras, we’re heading to the Musain,” Courfeyrac huffed, resting an arm on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Wanna come with us?”

 Enjolras shook his head, wanting only to be left alone with his racing mind, but Courfeyrac wouldn’t let him go so easily.

 “Oh, come on,” the younger man cajoled. “You know you want tooooo…” He trailed off, his voice high and singsong.

  _He’s not going to stop, he’ll keep bugging and then he’ll ask you if something’s wrong._

 Enjolras sighed and acquiesced, not having the will to argue. “Alright,” he said, hitching his messenger bag up onto his shoulder. He walked with Courfeyrac the few blocks to the café, praying his legs wouldn’t give out beneath him.

  _Almost there, just another block, almost there._

 When they entered the Musain, Enjolras immediately took a seat, not trusting his legs to hold him up much longer. The nearest available seat was, thankfully, next to Combeferre and Enjolras sighed as he dropped himself into the chair.

 “Hey, Enjolras!” The older man said cheerfully, clapping a hand on his friend’s back. Enjolras flinched under the other man’s hand involuntarily and Combeferre took notice. “Are you OK?”

 Enjolras hesitated, not wanting to lie to his friend, but not wanting to talk either. “Yeah, I’m fine,” He said, after a moment, hoping that would be the end of it.

 “Are you sure?” Combeferre asked, his brow creasing with concern. “You don’t look well.”

 “Are you sick?” Joly chimed in, his eyes wide and Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder if concern for his friend was the only reason he was asking.

 “No, no,” Enjolras said, his eyes flitting around the room, looking for an escape route. His eyes landed on the bar. “I just need some water, that’s all.”

 Combeferre looked dubious, but nodded and turned back to his previous conversation. Enjolras inhaled deeply and stood, slowly making his way to the drinks counter. Musichetta was behind the bar, serving another customer, and when she finished, she walked over to Enjolras.

 “Hey, Chief,” She said cheerfully, her tone dropping once she noticed the state he was in. “Are you OK? You’re not looking so hot.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” the lie falling from his lips almost effortlessly. “Just need some water, that’s all.”

 Musichetta’s brow furrowed, but she nodded and quickly filled a glass with water. “Here, Chief,” she said as she handed it to Enjolras. “Are you sure you don’t need anything stronger?”

 Enjolras took the glass and steadily chugged the drink down. “No,” he gasped as he finished. “Just more water, please.”

 His glass was refilled and another customer walked in, demanding Musichetta’s attention. She squeezed Enjolras’ hand reassuringly before she moved to the other end of the bar.

 Enjolras sighed, the frustration and guilt of lying to his friends was starting to hit, and lifted the glass to his lips again. As he drank, his eyes shifted around the room. His gaze landed on Grantaire, in his usual corner, with Bahorel and Courfeyrac. However, the dark-haired man wasn’t looking at them; he was staring right at Enjolras. The expression on his face was one Enjolras had never seen him wear before, something akin to worry and concern.

  _Why do you look worried? You can’t possibly be worried about me._

After a few moments, Grantaire smiled softly at Enjolras, and then turned back to the two men joking next to him. Enjolras finished his water, pretended that the tug in his belly was just his anxiety, and slowly made his way back to his seat, not noticing the eyes following him carefully.

 Once he was seated, Enjolras pulled out his laptop, opened his notes, and attempted to clear his head, even just slightly, so he could start working,

 But that was much easier said than done.

 Every time he cleared his head of one problem, another would come up. Worry after worry, thought after thought…

  _Do I have laundry that needs to be done?_

_Do I even have time to do laundry?_

_What should I have for dinner?_

_Should I cook?_

_Order out?_

_What I cook something and I set the apartment on fire?_

_What if I wash my whites with my reds?_

_What if I forgot to pay a bill?_

_What if I forgot my key and I’m locked out?_

”Are you OK?”

 “Do you need help?”

 “Hey, calm down…”

 “Breathe, man, breathe!”

 The voices screaming in Enjolras’ head sounded strangely like his friends voices and he felt like his head had finally exploded, he was done, off his rocker, when---

 “Guys, move, give him room! Can’t you see he’s having a panic attack?!”

Enjolras nodded, yes, that’s what this was! He was hyperventilating, his hands threaded through his hair, fingers clutching at the strands and pulling. His entire body was trembling and his eyes were clenched shut. There was a hole in the inside of his bottom lip from where he’d chewed it halfway through and there was blood in his mouth. The memories of every panic attack from his teen years flooded his mind and he couldn’t seem to remember where he was, or how to stop, to breathe, to pull his hands out of his hair, to open his eyes, to pretend like he was fine so he wouldn’t have to talk about his traitorous mind and the anxiety that made living so terrifying.

 “Enjolras? Enjolras, can you hear me?”

 He nodded, the muffled, familiar voice pulling him out of his thoughts.

 “OK, good, now, Enjolras, can I take your hands?”

 He nodded again, and then there were gentle hands wrapping around his wrists, carefully pulling his own hands away from his head. His fingers loosened their grip in his hair and instead, gripped the hands holding his.

 “Good, Enjolras. Good, now, do you know where you are?”

 Enjolras whimpered and shook his head. He didn’t know anything other than the fact that he was panicking and breathing way too fast and he needed help _right now_.

 “That’s alright, it’s OK, you’re at the Musain, Enjolras, and it’s me, Grantaire. I’m here, I’m holding your hands and I’m going to help through this, OK?”

 Enjolras nodded and gripped Grantaire’s hands, trying desperately to hold on to reality. _GrantaireGrantaireGrantaire, oh God, please help me._

 “OK, Enjolras, can you open your eyes and look at me?”

 Enjolras nodded again and slowly forced his eyes open and through his tears—when had he started crying?-Grantaire’s face came into focus.

 The other man smiled and squeezed Enjolras’ hands tightly. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be OK, Enjolras, alright?”

 Enjolras nodded and squeezed Grantaire’s hands back—oh God, he was holding Grantaire’s hands-as he tried, and failed, to regulate his breathing. He was so light-headed and he knew that if he didn’t stop breathing so erratically, he’d pass out.

 “Slow down, Enjolras, not too fast, OK? Try taking one deep breath.”

 Enjolras attempted this and whimpered when his lungs forced the air out painfully. Oh, God, he was so dizzy.

 “Hey, it’s OK, you’re OK, Enjolras, try again.”

 Enjolras obeyed, inhaling as slowly as he could and tried to exhale the same way.

 Grantaire smiled widely and squeezed Enjolras’ hands again. “Good, Enjolras, keep doing that, OK?”

  _If you keep smiling like that, I’ll never be able to breathe normally._

 Enjolras nodded and inhaled raggedly but slower as Grantaire called to Musichetta for a bottle of water. The older man’s voice was the only sound in the room, save for Enjolras’ wheezing breaths; their friends were completely silent. Enjolras raised his head to look at them. Their expressions were all the same, worry, concern, shock, confusion. Jehan and Combeferre had knelt in front of him, next to Grantaire. The rest stood a few feet away, allowing him room to breathe.

  _God, this is humiliating._

 Enjolras bowed his head in embarrassment, cursing when tears fell from his eyes.

 “No, Enjolras, don’t be embarrassed,” Jehan said softly, his hands coming to rest on Enjolras’ knees. “We’re all your friends here, it’s OK.”

 Something wet and cold was draped on the back of his neck and there was a bottle of water being lifted to his lips. “Drink this, Enjolras, it’ll help,” Grantaire said, holding the bottle steady for him.

 Enjolras drank steadily, the cold liquid chilling his insides and helping bring him back to the ground.

It took a few minutes, but soon, Enjolras was breathing almost normally again. He’d stopped crying and although he was still shaky, the tightness in his chest had dissipated and he was slowly coming back to Earth.

 Grantaire was still kneeling in front of him, their hands still clasped. Enjolras looked at him and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Grantaire.”

 The older man shrugged and smiled back. “We should get you home. Can you stand?”

 Enjolras nodded and with some help from Combeferre and Grantaire, he was standing.

One of his hands was still clutching Grantaire’s and he couldn’t bring himself to let go, and Grantaire didn’t seem to mind. He peeled the wet cloth from Enjolras’ neck and set it on the table next to them before turning to face their friends. “Hey, Bahorel, can we borrow your car?”

 “Y-you can’t drive,” Enjolras stuttered, thinking Grantaire had been drinking.

 Grantaire turned back to Enjolras and smiled softly. “I’m not drunk, Enjolras. I’ve only had one drink today and that was almost three hours ago.”

 Enjolras’ eyes widened. “Oh,” he breathed. “That’s good.”

 Bahorel stood next to them, holding his keys out to Grantaire as he wrapped an arm around Enjolras. “Here, R,” he said as he gently clapped his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Rest up, man.”

 Enjolras nodded and cleared his throat before he addressed his friends. “I apologize for my…episode.”

 The room filled with disagreeing voices.

“We should be apologizing to you!” Joly said from his perch next to Bossuet, who chimed in, “We shouldn’t have crowded you like that.”

 Courfeyrac sauntered across the room and wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s chest. “God knows what would’ve happened if R hadn’t been here, our wonderful savior,” he said, ruffling Grantaire’s curls.

 Grantaire laughed and playfully shoved Courfeyrac away.

 Combeferre came up behind Enjolras and gently rested a hand on the younger man’s back. “Do you want me to go back to your place with you?”

 Enjolras shook his head. “No, I think I’ll be OK. I just need to rest.”

 Combeferre nodded and said, “If you need me at any time, just call or text and I’ll be on my way.”

 “I will,” Enjolras promised, smiling gratefully.

 Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’ hand, grabbing his attention. “Shall we leave?”

 The blond man nodded. “Apology accepted,” he said to his friends. “And thank you all for being so understanding.”

 A few minutes later, Grantaire and Enjolras were in the parking lot outside the Musain, making their way to Bahorel’s car. Their hands were still joined, and when they reached the vehicle and had to let go, they both unconsciously suppressed a sad sigh.

 The ride to Enjolras’ apartment was short; he lived within walking distance of the Musain, but his legs weren’t steady enough to carry him home. Grantaire was quiet as he drove, obviously not wanting to push Enjolras’ to talk if he didn’t want too.

 Enjolras glanced at Grantaire’s hands on the wheel. He wanted to hold them again. They were strong, but gentle, which Enjolras had not expected. He bit his lip and looked away.

  _Jesus, E, stop acting like a teenager. It’s just Grantaire_

_It’s never ‘just Grantaire’_

 Officially, Enjolras had no romantic feelings for Grantaire. Officially, he only tolerated the older man as a friend. This is what Enjolras told anyone who asked, (mostly Courfeyrac, he loved to tease Enjolras about his lack of romantic interests), and this is what he tried telling himself. The reality, however, was the complete opposite. Truthfully, he was fascinated by Grantaire, his intelligence, his wit, his cynical, sarcastic humor. Grantaire was an interesting man, and he challenged Enjolras, made him think, defend himself and his beliefs. Truthfully, Enjolras found himself thinking of Grantaire in a more romantic way and he was scared and excited.

 Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire again. Oh, God, he was alone with him. And they were going back to his apartment. Enjolras looked away quickly, before Grantaire could see him staring and tried to keep his anxiety down. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

 “Hey, you OK?” Grantaire asked, taking a hand off of the wheel and resting it on Enjolras’ shoulder.

 The blond unconsciously leaned into the touch. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just want to get home.”

 Grantaire smiled and turned the car into Enjolras’ driveway. “Ask and you shall receive.”

 Enjolras smiled back and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Will you, um….come up with me?”

 Grantaire paused, unsure if Enjolras was joking or not. When the blond looked at him with a light blush on his cheeks, Grantaire received his answer. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, biting back a grin at this new side of Enjolras.

 It was actually quite a good thing that Grantaire joined Enjolras.

 “Shit!” the blond hissed as his foot caught on one of the steps leading to his apartment. Grantaire’s hand shot out and grabbed Enjolras’ arm, preventing the leader from falling.

 “Whoa, you alright?” the dark haired man asked once Enjolras had regained balance. His hand remained on Enjolras’ shoulder protectively.

 Enjolras exhaled sharply and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I’m just still a bit unsteady.”

 Grantaire smiled and, upon realizing he was still touching Enjolras, jerked his hand away quickly. “Let’s get you inside, then.”

 Within minutes, the two had entered Enjolras’ small apartment and were kicking off their shoes; Enjolras had placed his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder for balance and hadn’t realized. Grantaire just grinned to himself.

 “You should probably go rest, get into some comfortable clothes,” Grantaire said, walking into Enjolras’ kitchen. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

 “Yeah,” Enjolras said as he stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. “There’s chai tea in the fridge. You can pour some for yourself if you want. And there’s hummus and naan in there, too. Just bring them into the bedroom.”

 “Yes, sir,” Grantaire said, teasingly as he opened the fridge door.

 Enjolras bit his lip. “Thanks, Grantaire.”

 Grantaire didn’t say anything, but his smile widened and he winked playfully at the blond.

 Enjolras ignored the butterflies in his stomach and walked down the hall to his room. Once inside, he leaned against the wall and sighed deeply.

  _I can’t do this, I’m going to say something that I shouldn’t and ruin everything._

_He can’t possibly feel the same way, can he?_

_What if he doesn’t?_

_What if he does?_

Enjolras let out a frustrated groan and pulled off his shirt and jeans before slipping into a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants that he used for pajamas. He sat cross-legged on his bed, and closed his eyes, trying to remember the breathing exercises his therapist had taught him years ago.

 “Hey,” Grantaire said as he entered the room, skillfully balancing their drinks and food in his arms. “You OK?”

 Enjolras opened his eyes and reached out to take the drinks from Grantaire’s hands. “Yeah, just doing this…breathing thing.”

 Grantaire smiled and set the dish of hummus and bread on Enjolras’ bedside table. “Ah, the ‘fill your stomach, then your chest, and empty your chest, then your stomach’ technique?”

 Enjolras furrowed his brow. “Yeah, how did you know?”

 Grantaire smiled and took his glass from Enjolras’ hand. “My therapist taught it to me when I was a teenager.” He quickly chugged the tea down, not noticing Enjolras staring at his throat and the way it worked as he swallowed. “So, um, do you need anything else? If not, I’ll just leave you to relax.” Grantaire said as he finished drinking.

 Enjolras blushed slightly and bit at his lip. “Actually, um, I was wondering if you could…maybe stay? I really don’t want to be alone.”

 Grantaire’s expression turned worried and he crouched next to Enjolras. “Are you a danger to yourself?”

 Enjolras’ eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, no, not at all! It’s just that my head gets going and it doesn’t stop and—well, you saw what happens.”

 Grantaire nodded and almost reached out to comfort Enjolras, but stopped himself. “Yeah, I don’t mind staying. It’s no problem.”

 Enjolras smiled and grabbed the dish of hummus and bread from the table. “Thank you, Grantaire. This wouldn’t have happened if I had my medication, but I forgot to fill my prescription.”

 “How long have you been off of it?” Grantaire asked, climbing onto the bed and sitting himself at the foot.

 “Three days.”

 “Jesus, Enjolras! Are you going to be alright for another day?”

 Enjolras nodded, taking a bite of naan. “Yeah, I’ll be OK.” He looked down at his lap, biting his lip nervously. “Um would you mind sitting next to me?”

 Grantaire didn’t say anything, just crawled up the bed and settled himself next to Enjolras. He wrapped an arm around the blond’s shoulders. “Is this alright?”

 Enjolras smiled and nodded. “Fine.”

 “This looks so good,” Grantaire said, nodding towards the food. “Can I have some?”

 The two ate and talked, discussing their experiences in therapy. Enjolras learned that Grantaire’s younger sister used to have panic attacks and that he was the only one in his family that could talk her down. Grantaire learned that Enjolras’ parents thought he was faking his panic disorder and it wasn’t until he passed out at a dinner event from hyperventilating when he was sixteen that they took him seriously.

 The two men eventually fell asleep, pressed close together, sharing warmth and comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> Original thread: http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html?thread=5215791#t5215791
> 
> Title from Breathing Space by X-Ray Dog which is the most beautiful piece of instrumental music under two minutes long.


End file.
